Salacious
by Lilian
Summary: One part sexy, sassy scientist, one part sexy, seductive Saiyan. Mix, let simmer, and enjoy. B/V
1. Chapter 1

**30-day Smut Challenge**

**Chapter 1**

by Lilian

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**Author's Notes:** Ok, I admit it. I have the B/V bug and it won't leave me alone. I saw this 30 day sex challenge somewhere, and since I've wanted to improve my smut writing for a while now, I figured 'why not?' Of course, what better couple to cut your PWP-writing teeth than the sexiest scientist and her feral Saiyan?

Basically there will be 30 short ficlets based off 30 different sex-prompts, dealing with our favorite couple's sexy hijinks. Let me know what you think! I hope I can do them justice.

Disclaimer: DBZ and all associated characters are not mine and belong to Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.

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**Day 1: Celebration sex**

She bit her knuckles, hoping to swallow her screams of pleasure as he lapped at her slit with abandon. Her other hand fisted in his hair, thick and black as night, and she felt him purr in response right through the walls of her pussy.

"Vegeta, please," she breathed, unable to ask for anything more. Bulma, the brightest mind of her generation, space explorer, dragon ball hunter and still, words had completely deserted her.

"Not yet," as all the response she got, a throaty grumble against the soft skin of her hip, onyx black eyes looking at her from between her thighs. She had never thought she could want somebody more, but right then, watching him lick his glistening lips covered in her juices, her knees almost gave out from under her.

He smirked, a devilish tilt to his raising eyebrow, and she did find it in herself to slap him over the head. "Asshole," she whispered, but she only meant it half-way. He barely felt it, of course, wall of muscle and bone that he was, but she saw his pupils dilate at her fiery challenge. He had always liked a challenge, this Saiyan of hers, and it was with that single-minded devotion he usually reserved for training and defeating Goku that he turned his attention back to the situation at hand.

Bulma knew that he was a man of many talents. She also knew that he was a perfectionist. But this? She had never thought he would be so good at **_this_**. Long, slow licks against her nether lips, his nose brushing against her clit, all at a maddening pace slowly driving her insane. Both her hands were in his hair now, grabbing fistfuls of it for dear life as he continued his relentless assault. The patterns he traced amidst her sensitive flesh were maddening, a mixture of long, slow licks and fast, short bursts that made her **_burn_**.

She felt his right hand move from the back of her knee, slowly, ever so slowly up her thigh, moving closer and closer to where she really wanted them to be. He was running his tongue (as muscled as anything else on him) across her pussy when his fingers joined in. Dexterous fingers that suddenly made her blood sing. His thumb brushed her clit, forcing a gasp from her clenched lips, feeling him smile against her as she arched from his touch. He rose to his full height, a perfect match for hers, his hand beginning to explore and tease below. Through half-lidded eyes Bulma watched him, reaching out for him, needing to touch, to taste, as he was doing to her.

He expertly moved out of the way, never once breaking contact with her, silently shaking his head. He leaned it to breathe her scent, right where her neck met her shoulder, and she felt the ghost of his fangs caress the tender skin there. "No," he said, his breath hot against her skin, his free hand pulling down her turtle neck. It resisted, the material unwilling to stretch that far.

He simply tore it in half.

Bulma squawked in protest, ready to lash at him for destroying her property (again), but by then his hand had already found and released the cups of her bra. Her breasts bounced free, still perky and quite full thanks to still-breast feeding Trunks. She moaned as he cupped one of them, thumb brushing against her sensitive nipples and heard him grunt in appreciation. She sagged against him, the wall behind her no longer enough, and he let her, body taut and sculpted like a Greek god.

"Bastard," she managed to say, biting her lip as he once again batted her hand away from him. "Hn," was all the answer she got, a monosyllabic response that wasn't ever a word at all. Fine. If he wanted to do all the work today, who was she to complain? But she couldn't even bring herself to care, because Vegeta was using two fingers now, thumb against her clit, and dear Kami, it **WAS** as good as she remembered it!

She could feel the evidence of his own arousal against her thigh, thick and pulsing, and she couldn't help herself and shifted in his grip, bringing him closer to where she really wanted him. He stopped her easily, barely a tightening on her his hand on her hip, and she shuddered. She refused to beg again, but her body betrayed her, rubbing itself against him like a cat in heat. His eyes flashed in the semi-darkness of her lab, and he grunted again, turning her to face the wall. She held her breath, hands splayed against it, bent at the waist. _Yes, yes, yes!_ Screamed something inside her, something wild and desperate and hungry, _give it to me!_

Maybe he heard it, maybe he didn't, but he moved and positioned himself at her entrance. Bulma moaned loudly, unable to keep the sound in this time. His hands found her hips, a strong grip that she had only been able to re-live in nighttime fantasies, alone in her bed. He still said nothing, eerily quiet, letting his body do all the talking for him. One of his hands moved up to her upper back, palm flat against her spine, and not for the first time, Bulma felt helpless by the power it promised. Even contained and controlled like it was now, Vegeta allowing barely a slice of it to show knowing her human body could not handle it, she could feel it, warm and heavy against her left shoulder blade.

And then it wasn't just a feeling, it was really there! A warm pulse against her spine, thump, thump, thump, and she suddenly knew it was the beating of his heart. She turned her head, shimmying her ass in desperate need for him, trying to get him to just **move**! "What are you—" was as far as she got, before the pulse got stronger, thicker, and she knew he was pouring some of his ki into her. She had seen the Z warriors do this from time to time, but she had never expected it to happen during something like this. His brow was furrowed, eyes focused on his splayed hand still sitting on the middle of her back, and she felt his energy, his ki, flood her. It was warm, and alive, and it poured into her, a barrage of energy the likes of which she had never felt before. She gasped as it filled her, feeling Vegeta inside her although their bodies were not yet connected.

"Why?" she asked him, not understanding. For someone like her, a completely ki-null as Roshi had once dubbed her, the ebbs and flows of ki (specially his ki), were as intoxicating as wine. It did not sit still but came in waves, retreating, gathering, cresting and pounding her, a metaphysical mirroring of what they were about to do.

He simply looked at her, black eyes unreadable, tendons on his neck sticking out the only indication of just how much it took for him to not just ram himself home. And then he smiled, his first real smile she'd seen, and said: "Because of this."

And he ascended.

His ki exploded around them, changing from light blue to burning orange, warm and then hot and then burning. She cried out, shielding her eyes from the sudden explosion of light, and yet, instead of being incinerated, she felt her ki-infused body hold. When the light died down Bulma saw him standing behind her, proud and mighty and a Super Saiyan. His eyes shone teal now, green and aqua and blue, hair a flashing mane of gold. She could only stand there in awe, awe at the raw power she felt licking at her skin, at the sudden infuse of golden energy that transferred from his hand and through her back.

And then he was pushing himself inside her, and Bulma could think nothing more. Oh, Kami, it had been so long! She keened as he entered her, not fast but not slow either, his control beginning to shatter. She held onto the wall, feeling him pull back and then move back in again, his left hand on her hip holding her steady as he went.

She met him thrust for thrust, pushing back as he pushed forward, and yes, yes, with his ki flowing through her she could take everything he was giving her and more. "Vegeta, Kami, yes, Vegeta!" Her voice was carried away by the wind of his ki, but he leaned down and again buried his face in her neck. It was like behind held by thunder, sharp and scorching like a summer storm.

Bulma was lost to sensation. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, the dual stimulation of his ki and his cock inside her too much to bear.

As if knowing she teetered on the edge of sanity, Vegeta's hand moved to her breasts again, caressing and fondling, his rhythm impeccable as he pounded into her with animal glee. He murmured something against her shoulder, too low for her to hear, and she felt the tell-tale tightening of his thighs. He reached around for her clit again, finding it easily. "Wait," she tried to tell him, trying to gather her thoughts, "if you do that I'll—"

He laughed against her ear, voice hoarse with need, and whispered: "I know."

It was enough to send Bulma over the edge. Her orgasm hit hard, like the waves she had compared his ki to, crashing down on her and tearing her down until there was nothing left. She felt him pound into her once, twice, three more times, and then he went over too, holding himself impossibly still behind and inside her, gorgeous and deadly and spent.

When she came to, she was alone in her lab. The only evidence that she had not just imaged the whole thing were her torn clothes and a distinct soreness between her legs, one that she had not felt in a while. She sat up, a bit rattled but feeling oh so energized, the last traces of his ki still swirling inside her.

"He did it," she told no one in particular, and around the empty lab, of course nobody answered, "the son of a bitch did it!" Perhaps he'd also transferred some of his own triumphant satisfaction to her along with his energy, but she felt elated, unable to sit still, wanting to run up to the very top of the Capsule building and scream it from the rooftops.

Instead, she smiled. The androids were coming today, and she was going to be there to see them get pummeled to pieces.

Grabbing her lab coat and making sure it covered her naked body, she ran out of the room, calling out for her mother: "Mom, me and Trunks are going out! It's going to be a good day today!"

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Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**30-day Smut Challenge**

**Chapter 2**

by Lilian

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**Author's Note****: **this was supposed to be a PWP. And then it grew. Pretty much like Cell did, I guess, so it's kind of fitting…

Although this follows Chapter 1 in terms of timeline, I don't expect all of these to be linear in sequence. However, the second I read this prompt I wanted to do a Hyperbolic Time Chamber reference, since I've always been intrigued by the one day/one year dynamic of it. Plus, you KNOW our Saiyan Prince was hankering to get some after a year of being in there, no?

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed chapter 1! Your words mean the world to me. Let me know what you think about this one!

**Disclaimer:** DBZ and all associated characters are not mine and belong to Akira Toriyama and Toei Animation.

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**Chapter 2: Reunited after a long period of time.**

She wasn't worried. She really wasn't, she told herself as she worked on her latest drone design, ignoring the ache in her breast and the need to fly back to Kami's lookout.

"They're going to be fine," she muttered, mapping the intricate circuitry of an attack drone with her pencil, from energy blaster to internal combustion mechanism to exhaust port. Her fingers shook, and she couldn't help but look up to the far desk where three Saiyan battle armors still sat. She had made additional ones, knowing the quick turnaround inherent to a Saiyan training regime. Vegeta had scoffed, taking only one extra while muttering something about 'excessive human waste'.

She had watched him walk into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, back straight and chin high, only half-listening to Krillin recount the terrible events that had led to the Cell Games. She had been livid. But by then the door to the Chamber had closed, Vegeta already inside, her anger a cold, sharp thing with no chance to get him. That stubborn son of a bitch would be unreachable until it opened again.

And how did that even work anyway? She wondered, taking a deep breath and letting that anger subside, at least until the alien prince exited. A room where time went faster than in the world outside, a day on Earth amounting to an entire year in the Time Chamber. The implications for theoretical physics alone were astounding, and that was without the climate and atmospheric variations the room could also provide. She was already planning to sit down with newly minted Kami Dende, or perhaps Mr. Popo, to discuss the gravitational singularities, the geometry of space-time and just how did the Chamber operate. The possibilities of applying such technology to improve quality of life were endless. Capsule Corp's R&D division would be in business for decades!

She had a sudden flash of insight, quick and blinding. Could this, perhaps, had been the seed of the Time Machine that she (or a version of herself, at least), had built to send her own son back in time? Had she (her? It was difficult to keep her pronouns straight when it technically WAS her, although it hadn't really happened yet, had it?) known about the Chamber in that timeline, and perhaps gleaned just enough information to create something that shouldn't exist? Bulma was certain. The coincidences of a chamber with time dilation capabilities and a functioning time machine were too many to be ignored.

She would ask Trunks about it later. Their timelines had diverged quite significantly after his first trip into the past, so the risk of endangering the present was almost negligible at this point. Although the Time Machine was just over there, encapsulated in Trunks' civilian pockets, brought back to Capsule Corp after she had dropped off the Saiyan armor yesterday. It wouldn't really hurt to take a peek, would it?

She was still debating on the ethical implications of rummaging through her future son's possessions when every single hair on her arms suddenly stood on end. She looked up to find Vegeta standing right next to her desk, eyes dark as night, glaring at her down his nose. She eeked and flailed in surprise, almost falling out of her chair. "Godamnit Vegeta, would it kill you to knock?" she barked at him as she struggled to find her balance, wondering how he'd managed to sneak through several floors of high-tech security to find his way into her personal lab.

He snorted, a single regal eyebrow raising in derision, eyeing her as one would a particularly entertaining bug. "I can hardly be blamed for your feeble human senses and their inability to pick up on my presence, woman."

His voice was rough, as if he had not spoken in a long while. Finally back on her feet, Bulma pushed the rolling chair behind her with a swish, shaking her head. "You'd think after 3 years of you skulking about I'd expect these little surprises by now." She watched him, looking for a response, and there! His left eyebrow twitched and his smirk turned into a glower, and flashing him a wide grin, she clucked her tongue at him, stopping him mid-rant. "I know, I know, the Prince of Saiyans does not skulk. Whatever."

Bulma turned around, pretending to straighten up her desk, wondering exactly what insult he would concoct next (she was particularly fond of his 'screeching harpy' stanzas). Strangely, he did not engage her further. Instead, he remained silent, and after several seconds had gone by without a caustic retort, she looked at him over her shoulder, ready to poke him again. The look in his eyes stopped her cold.

It was—well, feral.

She followed his eyes down to her chest, lab coat having flapped open and low cut top displaying the girls in all their glory. Some of her pre-Trunks clothes had been tight-fitting to start with, and with the added spice to her curves during the pregnancy, well… even she had been hesitant to wear them in public. But here, in the confines of her family's compound? In the darkness and solitude of her personal lab? She hadn't even thought about it twice.

"Hey, buddy", she warned him, snapping her fingers in front of his face, "eyes up here. I don't know who you think you are but—"

His hand shot out faster than she could follow, grabbing her wrist and stopping her mid motion. "Do not push me, woman," he said, voice gravelly and threatening, "not today." She felt a frisson of fear snake down her spine, coiling down low in her belly. It was delicious. But she wasn't going to back down, not today of all days. Not when the knowledge of what he had done, of what he had let Cell do, was still fresh in her mind.

"Let me go, you idiot," she demanded, trying to pull her arm back. She might've as feel be fighting a mountain for all that he seemed to be aware of her struggles. His eyes narrowed, onyx black shinning and still fixated on her chest. Perhaps such a physical altercation (and the effect it was having on her bouncing breasts) was not on her best interest, mused a small part of her, while another simply crowed in delight at the naked hunger she could see on his face.

"What's the matter with you?", she asked him, other hand coming to rest on her cocked hip, unconsciously displaying her abundant assets to him even further, "you're looking at me like you haven't seen me in a year!"

She had to grant it to him. It was probably only his Saiyan pride, legendary even before he made landfall on Earth that saved him from laughing his ass off at her words. He didn't laugh, he didn't even break a smile. He only looked at her, that blasted eyebrow of his going up, waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because OF COURSE he hadn't seen in her in a year, had he? Hadn't she just been daydreaming about the very Chamber that he must've just exited not too long ago?

"Oh," was all that she managed to say, her fiery indignation suddenly deflated, "right."

Throughout the whole thing, Vegeta had not let go of her hand. His grip had lightened when she had stopped struggling, and he was now simply watching her. So she watched him back. Whereas she had seen him as recently as yesterday, the Vegeta that now stood in front of her was actually two years older than the one that had visited her right before the Androids had appeared to showboat his newly found Super Saiyan abilities. His physical appearance was not altered dramatically, but years of hanging out with super-powered martial artists had trained her eye to notice the differences. He seemed buffer, for one, the girth of his muscles larger than she remembered them to be. It made the tapering of his waist more noticeable than before. His legs too, seemed thicker in muscle than they used to be, and she wondered not innocently what it would be like to be trapped between them. And yet, he didn't look stocky at all. He managed to straddle the line between muscled and lean quite well, she thought, impressed at the ruthless efficiency he demanded of all things, particularly of himself.

His features were also slightly changed, sharper and leaner, not an ounce of fat left. Who had cooked their food in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, she wondered? She did not know if Vegeta had any cooking skills beyond 'raw or ki-blast charred', but perhaps Trunks?

Why was she even thinking about these things?

She never got to answer herself, because Vegeta chose that moment to pull her close, using her wrist to draw her against him. She landed against his chest with a huff, her nipples hardening as soon as she felt the hard planes of his pectorals. It seemed that her body, traitorous thing that it was, had no problem whatsoever being manhandled by this man.

He buried his face in her hair, right behind her left ear, and she felt him inhale deeply. Before she could enjoy that small gesture, though, he opened his mouth and in perfect Vegeta fashion, ruined the moment. "Woman," he rumbled, his breath sending shivers down her back, "shut the fuck up."

Bulma's outraged shout was lost when his mouth descended on hers, hot and biting. Kami, he was so strong! She felt a stab of desire run through her, a kink of hers she had never kicked. She was addicted to power, physical or mental, and this man had both in spades. He had no patience for fools, and keeping up with his high standards was a challenge in on itself. The fact that he seemed more than willing (albeit unconsciously) to meet her own impossibly high standards as well was just another cherry on top of this delicious Saiyan cake.

His kiss was dominating, like most things he did, showing no mercy and taking no prisoners. She moaned into his mouth, letting her own hands, both now free from his grasp, come around his neck. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck while he himself grabbed hold of her hips and roughly ground into her once. Bulma felt his cock against her thigh, hard and straining inside the blue spandex, and could almost weep at the perfection of it. She raked her fingernails down his back, feeling the tears in the armor and fabric, and wanted to lick every scar. Her anger transformed, feeding into lust and desire, coaxed out of her by his touch.

"Give it to me," she whispered against his lips, and that turned his kiss even hungrier, all teeth and tongue and need. She was mad at him, so mad it **burned**, but if there was one thing they shared (other than their monumental pride) was that they communicated better with their bodies than they did with words.

"Shameless wench," he growled, tearing off his gloves and finally, finally! His hands were under her clothes, rucking up her skirt and drawing her leg up his waist in one fluid move. Bulma just smirked at him, heady with the power of her body over his. Here was this man, this insanely powerful, half-mad man, and she could make him loose control like this. It was intoxicating, to say the least.

"Fucking Saiyan," she shot back at him, panting as his fingers pushed her panties aside and found her pussy. She was wet already, dripping with it, and he had her arching against him in five seconds flat. She grabbed on to him, powerful shoulders her anchor as she rode his hand with abandon. It was like he was reading her every gasp, adjusting his speed and intensity simply by listening to her respond to his ministrations. Was this how he fought, how he planned his battles?

Was she an opponent to him too?

He cupped her breast and Bulma felt every callus in his hand. She was so sensitive, especially after Trunks, and as he brushed against her peaked nipple she mewled, mind lost to his touch. No, no, this wasn't what she wanted. She wanted, no, she **needed** to feel him come to pieces, to knock him off his high pedestal down to her lowly human level so she could start to forgive.

She pushed against his chest, knowing there was no way he would move unless he chose to, but she insisted, squirming out of his hands. Again, if he really wanted to, he could bend her over her desk, ram into her and spend himself until she couldn't move, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him. But somehow, she knew he wouldn't. They had built a rapport, of sorts, too fragile to be a relationship, too solid to be anything else. She was counting on that, because he was still too much of a loose cannon for her to trust him.

He stopped.

Her head swam, a rush of power so big she was almost drunk with it. Perhaps this Prince of hers was not a lost cause, then. Perhaps, one day…

His face was tight, eyes narrowed and frown firmly in place. Expression closed off, it was still easy to guess what was going through his mind. He would not force himself on her, that much was clear, but the perceived rejection was not something he would easily forgive either.

It was ok. Bulma had ideas for that.

She cupped his cheek, feeling his jaw muscles clench as he ground his teeth in anger. Always so angry, Vegeta was, angry and mad and ravenous. Given into slavery by his father, raised by a monster, beaten, broken, abused. Alone, so very alone, held together only by his pride.

Pride… suddenly she understood Cell, she understood Vegeta's decision to let that creature achieve his perfect form. Battle was everything to a Saiyan, and battling against a perfect opponent? Well, that was perfection too, wasn't it?

"I haven't forgiven you for what you did yet, Vegeta" she told him, hand beginning to move down his neck, feeling the soft royal blue fabric of the Saiyan armor covering his chest, "but I know why you did it."

He said nothing, standing stock still like a statue carved in the fires of a dying star. And he had, hadn't he? Vegitasei was but a distant memory on the universal canvas, debris and star dust revolving around an empty core. Well, she had been forged in the fires of her own experiences, perhaps not as grand in scale but just as traumatic in scope.

She kept going, tracing his impossibly defined pecs, stopping just briefly on his left nipple. He still did not move, merely watching her with still, narrowed eyes. "You have been training so hard, haven't you?" she continued, butterfly touches against his abs now, sculpted muscles as hard as stone. "A whole year, alone in that room… did you think of me when you were there?"

He opened his mouth to protest, to vehemently deny ever having even given her a second thought, but her hand flew to his lips, silencing him. Her other hand grasped his cock, still hard against her thigh, and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. "When you touched yourself at night," she whispered, tasting the saltiness of his sweat as she gently closed her teeth on his neck, "did you think of me?"

Strangely compliant, he said nothing but merely shook his head. His denial was somewhat contradicted by his cock in her hand and the slight swivel of his hips in response to her words. She smiled, gripping it tighter and beginning to rub him up and down. The spandex under-armor she had designed was light but strong, thin layers of steel reinforced fabric she had designed after Vegeta's original armor. It was designed to curve to every nook and cranny of the wearer's body, fitting to their shape perfectly. And it was perfect now as it encased his manhood, soft but yielding, a delicious layer of friction between her hand and his skin.

But she wanted more. Oh, Bulma had always wanted more.

So she fell to her knees, her eyes fixed on his. "When you did this," she said, voice low as she faced the object of her affections, straining against the spandex now with renewed vigor, "did it feel good?"

For a while, it seemed he would not answer her. So she just held his gaze, eyes calm and open, hand lazily continuing to move up and down. Up and down. She squeezed as she reached the bottom, the heavy weight of his balls right under her palm, silently letting him know she was not going to stop, whatever his answer turned out to be.

His nod was almost imperceptible, so slight if she blinked she would've missed it. Another flash of lust ran through her, raw and overwhelming, and had she not been kneeling on the floor she might've swayed in response. She couldn't take it anymore. She wanted the throbbing pulse of his cock in her mouth.

Her hand found his manhood under the spandex, finally bringing him free of its confines. Oh, Kami, it was better that she remembered it. Thick and throbbing, it proudly bobbed in front of her face, reaching high on his hard abs. A drop of pre-cum glistened on its head, and Bulma licked her lips. She could see Vegeta's thighs clenching as he kept himself still. Bulma did not need to speak Saiyago to see his hunger, and she would meet him blow for blow.

She squeezed him once more, gripping him just this side of painful. He grunted, his hips swaying just once, and this time, it was her eyebrow that rose at him. "Show me that iron control of yours, Vegeta," she challenged him, tongue peeking from between rose-red lips, "show me what you mastered in the Time Chamber."

His hands had come to clench on the desk behind him, dark eyes slitted with something she couldn't quite name. This was a battle, albeit one he probably was not used to engaging in. Bulma believed she had understood something recently, after he had returned from his trip to space, after he had seen Trunks for the first time. As with all things, this Saiyan's pride was intimately linked with Saiyan sex, and as she appealed to that pride now, she knew she had him hooked.

"Don't move," she finally whispered, right before taking him in her mouth.

He made a low, animal sound, and when she looked up at him his head was thrown back, the tight ropes of muscle in his neck a sight to behold. She smiled against him, enjoying the thrill of having him like this. It was like riding a supernova, a knife's edge away from total annihilation. She took him deep into her mouth, sucking and licking him, thoroughly enjoying herself while she did so.

She heard the desk (reinforced) crack behind him, his knuckles white with strain. But he held, and she rewarded him by licking a long, slow trail up his cock, from his balls all the way to the head. She wrapped her hand around him again, working him steadily in a slow rhythm. It was not easy learning what he liked (the man held his secrets to the grave, but she had become an expert at reading slight twitches and lingering glances), but soon she had him holding on to the desk for support, knees bent and eyes closed, refusing to meet her gaze.

"You're going to come back to me, Vegeta," she said, punctuating her words with another lick. "You're going to defeat Cell and come back."

His eyes flew open, for a split second wide and unguarded, but Bulma pressed on. Her hand kept its maddening pace on his cock, alternatively gripping and releasing as she twisted right at the head. "You promised not to move," she reminded him, and he nodded just once, eyes shining with fury and lust.

His eyes promised death if she stopped, worse things if she didn't. A man of contradictions, conflicted by his own desires, unwilling to bend.

He was magnificent.

Her lips wrapped around him again, and he was hard as steel, so hot that she almost thought he was going Super Saiyan on her. She scraped her teeth against him, an implied threat never to be fulfilled, but it earned her a deep groan and she smelled the tell-tale scent of ozone a he powered down.

Her free hand found her own pussy, slick with need. Her two fingers slid in easily, and she rubbed her clit. Cock in her mouth, fingers in her slit, she felt her own orgasm building. He was not far behind, straining against the desk, every muscle in that delicious body of his taut with need.

She released him one last time, his cock glistening with spit, and let her hand finish him off.

He grunted as he came, hot white spurts of cum landing on her chest. She watched him intently, taking in every gasp, continuing to jerk him off until he was spent. As he fell back against the table, black eyes finding her in the semi-darkness of the lab, she granted him one final gift. Holding his gaze, she flicked her clit once, twice and came herself.

She recovered quickly, but he was quicker. By the time she had risen back on her feet, he had tucked himself back inside the royal blue suit, and readjusted his features into that ever present scowl. She took her time fixing herself up, thanking the Kamis above she kept moistened towels in the lab. Apparently, they cleaned off bodily fluids just as well as they did grease.

As she finished pulling her skirt down and closing off her lab coat, she was surprised to find him still standing there. Checking her face on a handy generator's chrome surface, she spoke to him over her shoulder, somehow certain he'd listen: "Off you go, then. Go kick some mutant clone ass."

He hhmp'd, arms crossing over that massive chest. He appeared slightly less murderous that when he had first come to her. Bulma would never know if he had been looking for this or not, but she somehow felt she had done her part, ensuring Vegeta would remain on this side of sanity for a while longer.

He appeared at a loss of words, torn between well, tearing her to pieces and throwing her over his shoulder caveman style. He turned on his heel and marched away, but her voice stopped him at the door's threshold: "Remember your promise, Vegeta. Come back, and make sure Trunks is with you too."

A noncommittal grunt was all the response she got.

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Please review!


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